


And Now It’s Real (Just Like A Movie)

by Spider_ManSuper_Fan



Series: Still Wear The Same Shoes I Did Back Then [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Broken Bones, Gen, How do I tag?, Light Whump, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Non-Graphic Violence, Only Kind of - Freeform, Peter Maximoff Needs a Hug, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spider_ManSuper_Fan/pseuds/Spider_ManSuper_Fan
Summary: Peter didn’t know who he was, where he was, what was happening, or how he got here. What he did know was that everything sucked and he was having a really bad day.(My take on what happens after that ending. Spoilers for episode 5)
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: Still Wear The Same Shoes I Did Back Then [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155095
Comments: 37
Kudos: 308





	1. I Can't Feel It Anymore (Cause Recently The Line Is Blurred)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written anything in years but that last episode made me so excited that this happened.
> 
> Also, I don’t know how to chose a title, so it’s lyrics from ‘Just Like A Movie’ by Wallows.
> 
> Also also, this is a oneshot because I wrote two versions of a next chapter and hated both of them. Turns out I can’t really write dialogue. I’d love to hear any of your suggestions for what could happen next, maybe I’ll actually end up writing it then.

Peter didn’t know what was happening. His thoughts were a whirlpool and he couldn’t quite grasp anything stable. It felt like drowning. Was he drowning in thoughts or drowning in water? His lungs filled and emptied in a steady rhythm despite his panic. So not water, probably. But his ears were blocked, or they seemed blocked. Was the world just perfectly silent? Where were the birds, the cars, the people?

There was something very wrong, but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t seem to think at all. Where was he again?

He was stood outside a suburban home with his finger retreating from the doorbell. Had he rung it? Why didn’t he remember. He tried to turn his head but the disconnect between his mind and his body seemed far too great to make a difference. A pounding headache he hadn’t noticed before, mixed his jumbled thoughts further. Just as he was loosing his sense of self again, the door opened.

Stood inside was a woman. She looked at him as if seeing a ghost, and Peter wondered for a second if that’s what he was.

Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t remember who he was or what was happening. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t quite feel the breeze in the air or the concrete beneath his feet. He didn’t know how he died, but if this was death than it sucked.

He spoke before she did. But was it really him? He didn’t know what was happening. How did he get here?

“Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin’ sister to death or what?” Echos of laughter swirled around in his head and he thought he would pass out. Who was laughing? Why wouldn’t it stop? They laughed and laughed and laughedandlaughedan-

“Pietro?” she asked, a husk of a whisper.

Was that his name? It didn’t sound quite right, but it was vaguely familiar. She was looking at him with such hope, such relief, that he could only assume she would know.

The next thing he understood was that he was hugging her. She was warm. He didn’t know how he could feel that when he felt almost nothing else. When they parted he moved to point at the other person in the room.

“Who’s the popsicle?”

The laughter ringed in his head again and it brought the piercing migraine back in full force.

-

Pietro (Peter?) learnt three things over the last hour that he spent in this strange place.

One: he was not in control of his body. In hindsight, he should have realised it earlier. He had no idea what was happening and yet he said and did all the right things. He also didn’t need to be entirely conscious to play his part, and so most of the time he faded in and out of awareness.

Two: the headache was not normal. It was pounding in his skull and every second that he spent there, that he spent under someone’s (whose? Who was it? Shouldn’t he know?) control, it got worse. As the pain got worse he also seemed to lose more of the grip on his mind. He lost more of himself and more of his tether to reality.

Three: ...there was most definitely a three before. The thought slipped his mind once again in the pain. If he could scream he was sure he would have done so.

“Well it’s nice to catch up, Pietro” Wanda’s (his sister’s?) voice sounded as if underwater, but her tones of ecstasy still shone through.  
“I’m going to go make us dinner. Vision would you get the boys? I’m sure Pietro would love to meet his nephews.”

“Nephews?” he (his body?) asked in awe.

“Of course dear,” was the response. But when Wanda moved into the kitchen Vision quickly pulled Pietro upstairs and into an empty bedroom with him. Vision paid no mind to his confused protests.

He hesitated for only a second, before pressing two fingers neatly to each of Pietro’s temples.

All of a sudden everything rushed back: the sounds, the feelings. Everything that was once muffled and distant were now clear. When the pain subsided just enough, the memories came rushing back too.

His name was Peter Maximoff. He was a mutant. He was an X-Man. He didn’t know who these people were. He didn’t know where we was. What he did know, was that he wanted out.

So he ran.

As the world slowed down, he looked back at the Vision character he had come to know as Wanda’s husband. He must be a mutant because the red complexion and the glowing yellow gem in his forehead certainly weren’t human.

Peter almost felt bad leaving him there after he so clearly set him free, but the overwhelming urge to get out while he still could, took priority.

He flung the door open and took two steps at a time as he came back down to the first floor. He spared a glance in the direction of the kitchen, but Wanda, who was practically frozen as she took out cutlery from the draws, seemed to have yet to notice her husband’s rebellion and Peter’s subsequent absence.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch he had not so long ago been standing on. He did briefly check out the scenery, but it was late enough that the sky was dark and people were safe inside their homes, so other than the eery perfection the town provided, there was nothing to see.

He took off in a sprint down the road. He knew he moved many times faster than the speed of sound. He knew that no one should be able to stop him now, especially since no one had even had the time to process he had disappeared yet. But time and time again Peter had been wrong that no one could touch him as he ran. Apocalypse had encased his foot in concrete in a fraction of a millisecond. Jean had swept the debris from beneath his feet in a similar time. Both events had put him in the medbay for more than a day, and he really didn’t want to break anymore bones. So he ran faster than he thought he ever could.

Just as he was reaching the end of the long line of houses, Peter noticed a flicker in the sky. There was a barrier. An energy field of some sort. But he was coming at it at full speed, and though he certainly wasn’t sure what would happen, he also really didn’t want to stay in this horror town. So instead of slowing down to investigate, Peter sped up.

When he hit the barrier he flinched in anticipation but he didn’t bounce back like he feared he would. He ran straight through, albeit with some physical resistance, and out the other side. The barrier, it seemed, also disguised what the other side looked like. Because while in town, the sky was darkening and the road ahead looked clear, on the outside it was practically morning and the path was most definitely not clear.

It was for this reason Peter hit a van, hard.

There was a sickening crack and he bounced with just enough momentum to hit another vehicle and land on the grass on his side.

He realised, blearily, it would have been much worse if the vans were moving, and not just parked on the grass. The thought didn’t give him any comfort, as he rolled himself onto his back and the pain in his arm and ribs made themselves known.

His right arm was most definitely broken. There was an extra bend between his elbow and his wrist, where he was pretty sure he didn’t have a joint before. And his ribs protested violently as he laid on his back, staring at the sky. The rest of him was bloody and bruised, and there was a ringing in his ears.

Or maybe the ringing was an alarm and not in his head. Shouting in the distance got louder.

“Another breach!”

“Over there!”

A spotlight seemed to have just found his lying body, and Peter had the profound thought that maybe he should get up and keep running. He shifted just slightly on the ground, and the pain it caused his ribs and arm were answer enough.

“Hold your fire!”

Peter turned his head to the side to see the men forming a circle around him. Little green lasers on his chest signalled that their guns were at the ready. He was so done with this.

“Put your hands up!”

He shifted just slightly and hot pain shot through his arm. He groaned but lifted his left arm up above him anyway.

“I said, put your hands up or we will shoot!”

His groans became louder this time, as he was forced to weakly lift his right arm. He scrunched his eyes up at the pain but held still.

Now Peter was never a patient man (it comes with being able to do things hundreds of times faster than everyone around you) so as he lay there in excruciating pain, waiting for these strange military-type people to do or say something, he had more than reached his limit.

“Where the f*ck am I?!”


	2. Now I See (That The Times All Change)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented! You’re the reason this chapter exists!
> 
> There’s still a pretty open ending, but I consider this story finished now. Depending on episode 6, I may continue it anyway.
> 
> For now though, I’ve created a series and if the inspiration hits, I’ll probably be writing one shots. I’ve had some ideas of Peter meeting other heroes or him just hanging out with the Wandavision trio. Any suggestions are welcome.

“I am Director Hayward of SWORD, please state your name.”

Peter rattled the cuff locked around his left wrist and glared at the man now entering the room. A woman followed in behind him, but stopped silently to the side.

He had spent an agonisingly boring two hours sitting chained to the table, waiting in this half put together interrogation room. Thirty minutes in a nurse had come to wrap his ribs and set his arm, and then forced him out of his clothes. Apparently they counted as evidence or something and now he was stuck wearing an oversized black jumper splashed with their strange logo, and grey sweatpants. His feet were cold without socks.

“What, did I finally annoy the guards into getting you?” Peter smiled sarcastically at the two men who had been stationed by the door. He’d been having a one-sided conversation with them since he got here.  
“You wouldn’t happen to have brought the sharpie I requested? It’s kind of hard to doodle on my shiny new cast without a pen.”

The Director didn’t seem to like that answer. He stalked towards him and leaned forwards on the opposite side of the table. Some sort of power play, no doubt.  
“I asked for your name. If you don’t cooperate this could all go much less smoothly.”

“Oh yeah, I know. And see here’s the thing. You guys dragged me here and locked me in this room for hours. Now I don’t know much about the law, but that sounds a lot like kidnapping to me.” He gave an exaggerated smile.

“We are a government funded organisation, our procedures are well within our rights.”

“Great. So the government kidnapped me.”

“My people are running facial recognition programs as we speak. We will very soon find out who you are, and then I’ll be back to talk.” He turned and walked right out of the room. The woman left with him.

“Bring me a sharpie next time!”

-

Now Peter never had the greatest track record with the law. When he still lived in his mother’s basement he would steal and hoard things he didn’t need, just because he could (kleptomania, his mother would say, he’d never take it seriously). When the police inevitably showed up, he’d stare them straight in the face and run around the room until they got tired of chasing him. Back then the existence of mutants wasn’t common knowledge, so the cops went home with an existential crisis and Peter kept living his life free from prison.

Nowadays though, he was a public figure, an X-Man. He shouldn’t have to cheat and lie his way out of a situation like this. But it was for that exact reason that he couldn’t tell the truth. He was a public figure, and yet nobody recognised him. It was really freaky, honestly. If they came back and even their fancy machines didn’t know who he was, then there would really be a problem.

He was in the middle of ranting about the newest songs on his playlist to guard one and two, when the door opened once again. This time though, just the woman from earlier stepped in. Signalling to the guards to leave, she pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him. He noticed a vanilla file in her hand.

“How are you doing? I’m Monica Rambeau.” She placed the file, closed, onto the table.

“Well my arm’s still broken and it hurts to breathe, so I’ve been better.” She seemed nice. Or at least, she didn’t try to get information by intimidating him. It was a big improvement.

She considered him carefully for a moment.  
“I know what it feels like. I spent more of my fair share of time in that town.” He looked at her, alarmed. That was not what he was expecting.  
“It’s suffocating and confusing, the grief keeping you down. And I know it’s hard to trust us, but we are truly trying to help. There are hundreds more people stuck in that town, under the same control that we were. Just please, don’t you want to help them?” She looked hopefully at him, and he found it difficult to stay on track. But what he really wanted was that file. He could stall until he got a chance to read it.

“Barry Allen,” he lied.

“Thank you.” She smiled softly at him.  
“Now is there anything you can-“

The door knob clicked softly and Monica turned to look at it.

This was his chance.

He turned the file to him as the world slowed to a stop; his cuffed arm reached just far enough to bring it closer. He opened it and scanned the page inhumanly fast.

‘-unknown subject plays Pietro Maximoff”

‘Pietro Maximoff, born in 1989 as a twin of Wanda Maximoff-’

‘-experimented on, Pietro got superhuman speed-‘

‘-died in 2015 during the fight against Ultron-‘

‘-in her distress Wanda used her Sitcom world to recast Pietro-‘

Peter snapped the file closed. There was a dawning realisation and he didn’t like where it was going.

The dates, their names, the fact no one recognised him. It all added up to one thing.

Now Peter had done a lot of crazy stuff in his life. He’d helped time travellers break his terrorist father out of the Pentagon. He’d broken his leg fighting an immortal, body-switching god. He’d even rescued astronauts from a solar flare in outer space. What he hadn’t done, was travel to another universe. Until now, apparently.

Reigning in his panic, he positioned the file carefully back into place, and the world sped up again.

The door opened to reveal a new woman. She held a coffee cup in one hand and seemed oddly out of place in an interrogation room.

“Nice try, smart guy, but Barry Allen is the Flash.” She stepped further into the room and closed the door.

“What? Darcy what are you talking about?” Monica asked.

“He said his name was Barry Allen. That’s the name of a comic book character.” She shrugged.  
“I just thought you should know that he lied, before you keep going.”

“Well, that’s disappointing. I’m guessing that means you’re not willing to help.” She sighed, and turned to grab the file back, but Peter wasn’t done yet. No point in pretending if he was going to need their help to get back home.

“No no, I’m sorry. I was stalling for time. My name’s Peter Maximoff.”

Monica glanced back at Darcy in alarm, but she too looked shocked by that turn of events.

“Okay, Peter. How did you get into Westview?” Monica asked as she settled back into her chair. She seemed pretty skeptical, but nevertheless indulged him.

“I don’t really know. I was eating breakfast, when I started glowing red and then just kind of disappeared.” It was the truth. Peter had been munching on cereal as the other X-Men tried to convince him to talk to Erik about his parentage. It was actually when Erik entered the room that Peter started feeling tingly and glowing red. He had just enough time to mutter an ‘oh’ before being whisked away.

“And then what happened in Westview?”

“Uhh, I arrived at their doorstep and Wanda and I talked for an hour. Then she started making dinner and Vision brought me to another room. He set me free somehow? So then I ran right out of there.” He gave an awkward smile, knowing this would only lead to more questions.

“You ran away?” Monica and Darcy shared another secret look, but Peter was pretty sure he got the gist.

“Yeah I’m super fast, like that Pietro guy.”

“Are you related or something?” Darcy cut in.

“Yeah no, uh, I think I’m from another universe. Like, I think he’s an alternate version of me.”

The silence that that statement left was rather deafening. But Peter had already gotten bored and started fiddling with his cuffs.

“I mean, this universe doesn’t seem to have mutants or X-Men and, like, I’m a kind of superhero person but no one here recognised me.” He eyes caught back onto the vanilla file.  
“Also your file said this Pietro guy died in 2013, what year does that make it now? Last I checked it was 1992!”

“My file?” Monica pulled it closer to her.  
“You read it?”

“Well yeah, it only took a second of you looking away.”

Darcy moved back to the door rather quickly.  
“I think I’m gonna go get Jimmy-“

Abruptly, the door opened and a man walked in.

“I’m already here,” he called.

He was carrying a laptop and something smaller in his hand. Before Peter could see what it was, he chucked it towards him.

Peter snatched it out of the air with his left hand, and was delighted to see it was a blue sharpie.

“Look here,” Jimmy instructed. He opened the laptop and positioned the screen so both Darcy and Monica could see. From his bad angle, Peter couldn’t tell what was happening in it, but it appeared to be slowed down security footage of this room.

Peter bit the pen lid and pulled it off. He dropped it onto the table and with his left hand, got to work on decorating his cast.

“Did he just flicker?” Darcy pointed to the screen and Jimmy nodded in the background.

“Yup, super speed,” Jimmy confirmed.

They all turned to look back at the Maximoff. The cast on his right arm was covered in doodles, and Peter was admiring his handiwork. He noticed a blank spot and in a blur, it was taken up by a little blue running man.

“So, an alternate universe?”

-

Peter stepped into a plain room. There was a bed to the side, some shelves stacked along the wall and a window, that looked out onto town.

It had taken hours of discussion and many many attempts at keeping Peter on track, but eventually Peter, Monica, Darcy, Jimmy and even Hayward had come to an agreement. Peter would help them deal with Wanda, and then they would help him get home.

They didn’t trust him though, mostly Hayward didn’t trust him but that was mutual, so Jimmy had provided an FBI ankle bracelet that could track his movements. In return for his small sacrifice, SWORD agreed to pay for an apartment in the nearest town.

It wasn’t perfect, and it definitely wasn’t home, but it was a start at putting his life back in order. He’d figure the rest out later.


End file.
